An Unspoken Promise
by deanandhisimpala
Summary: Set a few days after No Rest for the Wicked. Alone in their last motel room, Sam mourns for his brother and makes a promise to Dean. Heavy angst, but with a glimpse of hope at the end.


**Well it looks like I've been bitten by the writing bug, cause all of a sudden a ton of stories are just coming into my head, already written! **

**This one is a lot darker than the other ones I've written, and takes place after _No Rest for the Wicked_, so you know it's sad. I thought I'd try and get into Sam's head, and see what he was feeling. Let me know what you think...**

**Disclaimer: So not mine... but hey if it was possible, Dean would definitely be mine any day :)**

**Warnings: Pretty depressing in some places, cause it's not long after Dean dies. I actually found myself crying when I wrote this, so yeah it's pretty dark. Still, there's a glimpse of hope at the end, cause I couldn't just leave it that sad.  
**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

365 days.

365 days, so clear and precise in Sam's mind. Each and every one of them. Probably, if someone were to ask him what happened on each day of the last year, he'd remember.

525,600 minutes.

525,600 minutes could never have been enough. They never would be enough. Not for that last year. Not for the last year of his brother's life. He would have given anything – anything – for just one more minute. It was stupid, but for some reason he felt that if he'd had one more minute – 525,601 minutes – he might have been able to figure out some way to save his brother.

He sat silent, unmoving, in the middle of the motel room.

Silence.

Horrible, brooding silence.

Silence, he thought, had to be the loudest sound there was. It was deafening. Drowning out everything else. He just wanted there to be a sound. A familiar laugh. An indignant huff. But most of all he longed to hear his name, spoken in that deep, gruff voice. The voice that said it loved him without ever actually speaking the words. The words were just there… embedded in every syllable, between every line, and Sam never doubted for a second that they were there.

He longed to hear the nickname, the nickname he'd hated for so many years… he would do anything to hear it again. Never had he realized just how much he loved hearing it until he would never hear it again.

He let his eyes wander around the room dully, taking in everything without really seeing it at all. Everywhere, there were signs of him. The crumpled bed, with the knife handle sticking out a little from beneath the pillow. His hand had clutched it every night, every night he'd taken comfort from the fact that it was there.

The empty coffee mug, perched precariously on the edge of the counter, so close to falling off and shattering, shattering into a million pieces. Like Sam's heart.

He got to his feet and walked slowly, soulessly, into the bathroom. Even here there were signs of him. His brother's razor, left at the side of the sink carelessly, the toothpaste tube they shared squeezed and twisted far too much for how full it still was. Sam had always yelled at him for that. It was just a pet peeve. Why squeeze the toothpaste that hard before you even needed to? It seemed so stupid now. If he was only still here… Sam would let him mutilate the toothpaste tube as much as he wanted.

He drifted back out, noticing something beside his bed… he walked over and looked at it, knowing already what it was before he picked it up.

Dean's leather jacket.

He picked it up, automatically bringing it up to his face, inhaling the familiar scent. It would eventually fade.

Just like everything else.

Without warning his eyes filled up, the scent of his brother too much to bear.

The jacket had belonged to Dad first. And Dad was dead now. Then it had belonged to Dean. And now Dean was dead too.

Sam clutched the soft leather to his chest, letting the hot tears slide down his cheeks like slow rain.

He couldn't go on like this. Couldn't do it anymore.

The deafening silence pressed in on his ears, and tears fell faster. There had to be something…

He turned slowly, letting the jacket fall gently to the bed beside him. Behind him, there was a mirror on the wall, and he caught a glimpse of himself as he turned around. Same old Sam.

He marvelled at how no matter how much some things changed, other things could stay exactly the same.

Like him.

His brother was dead. Gone. Yet he – Sam – still looked exactly the same. How could he, when it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stepped on and stabbed and everything else awful? Pain like this should leave a mark. A huge, gaping bloody hole.

Where Dean used to be.

But there was something different about his reflection after all. What was it? Then he realized… the amulet hanging around his neck. Dean's amulet. The one he'd given Dean on Christmas so long ago.

As much as it had felt wrong to do it, he'd taken the pendant off Dean's body before they'd moved it. He knew Dean wouldn't have wanted it removed. Knew it was his most prized possession, along with the Impala. But he'd taken it as a promise.

A promise that even though he'd let his brother go to Hell – even though he'd let him down in that way – he would get him out.

Every morning when he'd get up he'd see it, and it would remind him that his brother was waiting for him… waiting for him to save him…

As if he'd ever forget.

Still, he felt like he had a part of Dean with him, by wearing the amulet. And he would not take it off.

Not until Dean was safely in his arms again, alive and well and shoving him off and calling him a girl.

He wrapped his hand around the small brass figure, squeezing it so hard it left an imprint on his palm. He closed his eyes.

"_Sammy…"_

His eyes shot open suddenly, his heart slamming against his ribs. Had he just heard…? Was that…?

For a second, he could have sworn he'd heard his name. His name spoken in a whisper… such a familiar voice…

"Dean?" he whispered.

There was no answer, but suddenly Sam's heart felt lighter. He knew, somehow Dean had just spoken to him. Communicated.

And he knew – for sure, suddenly. He was going to save Dean. Dean was going to come back.

He got to his feet, picking up his jacket off the floor. It was time to pull himself together, time to go find Bobby. Together, they'd figure something out. They'd bring Dean back. He would save Dean. How had he let himself just fall apart like that? Dean needed him. There was no time to sit around and feel bad. After all, Dean was coming back soon. Sam would make sure of that.

He opened the door and stepped out into the crisp morning air, the sun just beginning to send its rays into the crystalline sky. His boots crunched on the half-frozen ground as he crossed the parking lot to the Impala.

Dean's amulet was an unspoken promise, warm against his chest.

_I'm coming, Dean. I'm coming to save you. I promise._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Please review on your wait out and let me know what you thought :)**

**Catch you on the flipside,**

**Deanandhisimpala**


End file.
